The First Move
by redisthenewblackington
Summary: Red and Liz are on the run and snowed in together. With every passing second, she secretly wants him more and more, but Red confides in her that he never makes the first move. Will she give in and go for it?
1. Chapter 1

AN: This little fic is for Madele, for a Christmas gift exchange. She picked the prompt - Red and Liz snowed in, little cabin, fireplace, fluff, and smut. This will have two chapters, with the smut happening in the second. Admittedly, the first chapter could be fluffier, but the second should make up for it. I hope you all enjoy. Thank you for reading! Let me know what you think.

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"Understand that this wasn't my first choice," Red said quietly, sighing as he lead her into the tiny log cabin that would serve as home for at least a few days.

Newfoundland was only supposed to be a pitstop, a place to refuel and stretch their legs before going wheels up again, but a glitch with the jet's landing gear needed to be addressed before they could depart. It was a simple repair that could be done within a day, but a massive impending snowstorm mooted all efforts to rush. The first few flakes had already started to fall.

"On a godawful Christmas tree farm, of all places," Liz huffed.

"Well, it's better than sleeping on the jet - certainly warmer." He gestured towards the fireplace. "I'll go grab some firewood while you get settled in."

She shook her head. "The cabin is fine. Charming, even. It's just... the last time I saw a Christmas tree farm, it was a disjointed and hazy memory ripped from my subconscious by Braxton's doctor."

"Lizzie," he started, apologetic, but he didn't quite know what to say, so instead he just pulled her into his arms and pressed a kiss to her temple.

She turned her head so that her ear was pressed against his chest, resisting the urge to hold him more tightly. His body was both hard and soft in all the right places, molded perfectly against hers as if by design. It wouldn't do to go down that road now, though it felt like the most natural thing in the world. The temptation she felt was surely beyond whatever he was trying to offer. Besides that, based on the little she knew about his own past, the trees probably brought up even worse memories for him than her own. She took a deep breath through her nose and shook her head slightly. "No, no, it's okay. I'm okay, sorry. We've been running so hard and for so long, that whole ordeal is usually the furthest thing from my mind, but then it hit me when we were walking through the trees. I'm just feeling a little vulnerable, I guess. I don't mean to complain. Go ahead and get the firewood before it gets all wet from the snow."

He stepped back and tilted his head, looking at her appraisingly. "There's no need for you to apologize, and no reason to be brave now. We're safe here, from everything."

Though tempted to return the sentiment, she also didn't want to bring up his ghosts.

Ghosts like attention.

She offered what she hoped was a reassuring smile and watched him walk back outside to collect the wood. His steps were weary, lacking in the jaunty swagger that she secretly adored, but that was to be expected, given their circumstances. With little to unpack or settle, she opted instead to investigate the cabin. It was studio-style, one room with one bed, a couch, television, and a kitchenette with a small table pressed up against the back wall. Next to the fireplace was a bookshelf stacked with novels - most of them in French, but some in English too, thankfully. The tiny bathroom was the only place that afforded any privacy, but it barely had enough standing room to get dressed or shower.

Red came back in within moments, his arms laden with wood. "Well, the good news is that the wood is covered with a tarp, so we don't have to worry about it getting wet from the snow. The bad news is that it isn't right outside the door, so we'll have to trudge through the snow to get more when this runs out."

She dashed over to help him unload the firewood from his arms. "Then let's pile it up now. I'd rather save us the walk later," she replied.

Outside, the ground was already covered in a thin layer of snow, with tips of grass poking out through it, sucking in the last bit of sunlight that they'd see for days. The fat flakes were falling in earnest, and they stuck to Liz's hair and Red's fedora, making him look like the beginning of a piece of pointilism.

He turned his head and caught her staring, but didn't call her out on it. "Have you looked around the kitchen cabinets yet? Remy said there's enough wine in there to keep us drunk for a week, but that he'd probably have to bring more food the day after tomorrow."

Uh oh. That could be trouble. Or if could be great. The breadth of potential for such a stockpile made her uneasy. "No, not yet. You sure that's a good idea?"

He laughed and grinned as he pulled back the bright blue tarp. "Oh, no. I'm not suggesting that we spend the week engaging in bacchanalian pursuits. I'm just passing along the information given."

"What an unusual change of pace," she wryly commented.

When Red looked up, lips poised to defend himself, she offered the sweetest little smirk, with her eyebrows lifted just so. It wasn't unlike his own, and she looked so lovely that his readied reply evaporated, instantly forgotten.

They piled up their arms with as much as they could carry, and then circled back for a final load, hoping that it would suffice.

After all that work, a drink actually sounded pretty good. So, while Red carefully unpacked and hung up his clothes, Liz ventured to the tiny kitchen to investigate her options. What she found was an entire cabinet filled with identical bottles of pinot noir. Having seen Red contentedly downing that unnamed white swill at Hempstead's apartment, she figured Red wouldn't complain about their current selection, or lack thereof, so she poured two glasses without bothering to ask if he'd like one. He looked as if he could use a drink too.

"Ah, thank you," he said as she passed it to him. He swirled it around for a moment and inhaled deeply from the glass before holding it up and making piercing eye contact. "Cheers?"

She raised her glass in suit. "Cheers."

He took a sip and hummed in appreciation, letting it swirl around on his tongue before swallowing. "Nice, soft oak finish. An '08 pinot noir?"

"Am I supposed to assume that you didn't already know?"

"Well, the year was just a guess."

They each retreated back into their own heads, quietly drinking their wine and occupying themselves. Neither were inclined to light a fire any sooner than it became absolutely necessary. The rows of Christmas trees were bad enough for their respective memories, but it was the same hellacious fire that still gave them both nightmares.

She remembered the smoke, god, so much smoke, along with the sounds of several nameless and faceless men and her mother's shouting. There was the person who found her in the closet, only to collapse and burn on the ground behind her while someone else carried her out, shrieking. A sickening, powerful sense of fear. A searing burn on her palm and wrist. Her once-white stuffed bunny, soiled by soot. On top of it all, the knowledge that there was no going back inside, no more safe returns, and no more sense of 'normal'.

And Red was there.

He was the only man that now had a name. What he might remember about that night was a big question mark hanging over her head, and she knew the moment that this new fire sparked, it would only swell above her, eagerly fed by the flames. As unwise as it was, it was her anxiety over this that caused her to continue to drink, as if to steel herself against a curiosity for the things that he wasn't ready to tell.

They'd collectively downed two bottles within a couple hours. While huddled up on the couch, her legs curled beneath a flannel throw blanket, Liz began to shiver. Red noticed and peered through the curtains at the snow-covered ground. "It looks like about five inches already."

A salacious voice inside her crowed, _'Oh, I'm sure it's more than that.'_

Her expression must have given something away, because Red met her eye and smirked knowingly. She would have killed to hear whatever witty comment he was holding in. Instead, he quickly swiped his tongue across his bottom lip, and with his voice slightly lowered, said, "It's time to warm this place up a bit. I think I'll change out of my suit and get our fire started."

Maybe it was the wine talking, but that sounded pretty sexy too, she decided.

She watched him grab his bag and retreat to the bathroom, wondering what type of clothing he preferred for lighting fires. Oh, she needed to stop thinking like this, she knew, but the thoughts were coming more quickly than she could tamp them down.

When he came back, he was dressed in black sweatpants that were loose in the legs but hugged his hips delightfully, and a plain black cotton crewneck t-shirt. She tried to school her expression into one of indifference, but it wasn't easy. Having lived in relatively close quarters for several months now, on more than one occasion, she'd seen the way those pants made his ass look from behind.

He flashed an impish grin and nodded towards the kitchen. "You up for some s'mores? I saw the ingredients in the little cabinet to the left of the wine."

The couch was positioned directly across from the fireplace, so in the moment, no, she didn't much want s'mores. She wanted to enjoy the view while he turned around and started the fire. Before she could reply, he bent down to pick up a couple logs, and her mouth instantly went dry. She became acutely aware that her response was taking too long. It wasn't exactly a big decision."Ah, yeah. S'mores would be good," she croaked.

Smooth, Keen.

"Or you could just keep staring. I don't mind."

Cocky bastard. Yet as bold as it was for him to call her out, he played it off nonchalantly, not even bothering to look back at her over his shoulder. Maybe he worried that he was being too presumptuous.

"Staring at what? I'm just reluctant to abandon this warm blanket."

He gamely played along with her excuse. "Oh, well just wrap it around your shoulders and take it with you."

"Yeah, good idea," she grumbled, flouncing to her feet like a toddler, grateful that he wasn't watching. While in the kitchen, still pouting, she opted to open another bottle of wine, and the poor cork paid dearly for her sexual frustration. As she appreciatively watched every curve and flex of his body from the side, she swirled the wine in her glass and took a big gulp.

Maybe this fireplace business wasn't so bad, after all.

Still poking around with the logs, Red drawled into a story from his childhood. "When I was eight years old, my father planned this huge camping trip with our neighbors. It was a total disaster, just one mishap after another, from start to finish. I didn't mind too much, but when Bobby Krenwinkel smeared his piping hot, freshly-roasted marshmallow in my hair, I screamed like a girl."

While he talked, Liz carried over the s'mores ingredients, and then turned around to grab her glass and the bottle. Her heartstrings tugged at the thought of little Red's anguished screams. "Aw, that must have hurt! Did you get him back?"

He turned around and grinned, holding up his empty glass for a refill. "Well, the joke was on him when his sister, Susie, spent the next hour trying to help me extract it from my hair. I had a tremendous crush on her."

Liz's eyes narrowed into slits as she smirked at him slyly and poured. "You always get the girl, don't you?"

In a flash, his smile flattened into a thin line, and he sobered a little as he held her gaze. "Unfortunately, no... not always."

The air around them seemed to crackle with the unspoken, or maybe it was just the fire.

"I find that hard to believe."

"Call it a consequence of methodology, but I never make the first move, so sometimes..." He paused to take an unusually sizable gulp of his wine. "It turns into an interminable, painfully hopeful waiting game... and then I lose."

Was that supposed to be directed at her, or was she simply being presumptuous again? She found it impossible not to presume. Her mind took off at a dead run, sprinting back to the memories of just how good it felt every time he'd held her, and she knew, she just fucking knew that those lips, always so pillow-soft on her head, would bring her to her knees the very moment they touched her own. She drew in a deep breath, trying to calm the blush that was creeping up her neck, no doubt aided by the wine.

If this was meant for her, then one thing was undeniable - he was waiting, and he would just keep on waiting forever, because unlike her, he would never presume. He wouldn't be surprised if she didn't want him, but he looked so fit and desirable, in this moment especially, that she couldn't imagine _not_ wanting him. Her eyes appreciatively scaled the length of his body, and when they settled on his face, her candid reply came out a bit stronger than she intended. "I _always_ make the first move."

"Elizabeth, I have no doubt that you'll one day make a very hopeful man very happy." He sounded almost broken, saying the words aloud, as if utterly convinced that it would be someone else, she thought, or maybe hoped. It wasn't entirely dissimilar to their conversation about her deepest desire, her dream of having a family.

In an instant, before she could even react, his entire demeanor changed. His back straightened and he painted a little smile on his face. "So, s'mores?"

She sighed and returned his smile, somewhat disappointed that the moment had so quickly passed. "Yeah, s'mores."

They each speared two marshmallows on wrought iron fire pokers, and jammed them into the heart of the flames. Red carefully rotated his, and then extracted it from the fire when it was an even, golden shade all around. It probably wasn't even melted in the center yet, but he seemed pleased with the results. He ate them both carefully, directly off the poker. "That's not how you do s'mores, you know. The marshmallows are supposed to go between the graham crackers," she chided.

Her own marshmallows then caught fire, charred black all the way around. "Well, _your_ marshmallows are ruined, so I'll be ignoring your advice on the subject."

"Oh no, they're not ruined. I like them burned to a crisp." She pulled them out, admiring her handiwork as she blew out the flames that continued to lick the sugar. "They're perfect just like this."

She didn't know it, but her words made his secretive little heart flutter.


	2. Chapter 2

AN: The final chapter of Madele's Christmas gift exchange fic. Smut time! There's also a pretty big nod to Alan Shore and Tara Wilson, for the Boston Legal fans out there. As always, I own none of the characters, and I'm not profiting from this little ficlet. Thank you for reading, and do let me know what you think!

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After stuffing their faces with s'mores, neither Red nor Liz felt inclined to bother with having a real dinner, so instead, they merrily plopped down on the couch and continued to drink. They started off relatively close together, but as the minutes turned into hours, they drew closer and closer, until Liz was tucked neatly into his side with both knees drawn up to her chest, and his arm was around her shoulders, holding her comfortably in place. He told her story after story from his years on the run, all with the underlying theme of making the best out of what most people would consider the worst. She deeply admired that about him. He was a true bon vivant, rapacious and vibrant in all of the best ways. The copious amount of red wine brought a warm flush to his cheeks that she'd never seen before. Perhaps that's one reason he so often reached for his trusty scotch, despite his apparent appreciation for red wines.

Here, in this tiny cabin on a Christmas tree farm, they couldn't go anywhere, but she didn't feel trapped. If Red had opened the door to show that the snow had magically disappeared, she wouldn't want to go anywhere. They were having plenty of fun, and she truly felt safe for the first time in forever. More importantly, it seemed that Red felt safe too - as safe as she'd ever seen him feel, at least. Nothing was better than watching his tension gradually slip away, even if aided by the alcohol.

It suddenly occurred to her that she hadn't been paying attention to his current tale, so she abruptly took his hand and lifted her head from his shoulder to look at him directly. "I'm sorry to interrupt you, but I just need to say something real quick, if you don't mind."

"Of course." He hid his mild surprise admirably, but immediately gave her his full attention.

"I know that this doesn't count for much. I don't exactly have a lot people that I would call friends, especially now, but..." She hesitated for a second, taking a deep breath, and then continued, "There's no one else I'd rather be snowed in with right now... or ever, even. You've made this into a fun little interlude from the madness of the past few months, and I'm so grateful. I know it wasn't planned, but I think I needed this, so thank you."

This time, he wore his surprise quite plainly, and it was adorable. "You're welcome, and don't worry. You'll be able to have a much better selection of friends when all of this is over."

He was making a dig at himself, and she didn't like it at all. "That may be true, but I said _ever_ , Red, and I meant it."

He kissed her temple and nuzzled her hair wistfully. " _That_ may be true, but you deserve better, less corrupt company."

She wanted to take that godawful pedestal that he'd placed her on and crush it with a sledgehammer. "Red, can I ask you something? It's a little personal."

His nervous chuckle was exceptionally endearing. "We both know that you're going to ask me anyway, so go ahead, but I hope you won't be too cross with me if I don't answer."

Oh, no, not cross. Not this time. "No, I won't be, but I might be disappointed."

Hadn't he disappointed her enough for one lifetime? It wasn't much of a reassurance, though it appeared to him that she'd intended it to be. "Out with it, then."

"Are you by any chance stuck in one of those interminable, hopeful waiting games that you mentioned earlier?"

He stiffened against her, completely taken off guard by her bold inquiry. "To answer that question would be considered 'making a move', wouldn't it?"

Aha! Her heart began to pound so quickly that she could hardly think straight. That non-answer was definitely an answer, and it was the one she most wanted, to boot. She dropped her hand and placed it on his thigh. "No, it's not. It's just talk."

"Lizzie, I'm surprised at you. You're well-educated. You've worked for The Bureau. Even a first-year law student knows that talk is considered legally actionable."

She turned her face towards him and rested her forehead against his before whispering, "Well, I think a 'first move' is a kiss."

He dropped his own voice accordingly, all the way down to that impossibly low octave that spears right between her legs. "No, a kiss is so much more than that."

"I never figured you to put such a high premium on a kiss."

Apparently he did, at least on the first one.

"A kiss is the promise of what's to come, Elizabeth," he rumbled. "A kiss is... the Christmas Eve of sex."

His metaphor of choice surprised her. At last, tragedy must have been far from his mind. She shivered and set down her wine glass, freeing her hand to run her fingers across the back of his scalp and settle at the nape of his neck. His answering involuntary shiver spurred her on and thrilled her to her core.

The Concierge of Crime was spellbound, at her mercy.

She leaned in again and nuzzled his sideburns as she whispered into his ear, "I actually favor the Christmas Eve of Christmas Eve."

Confusion briefly pulled him from her spell. "I'm sorry?" he croaked.

"See, it's not the actual kiss so much as the moment right before the lips touch, when you're so close..."

His breath became shallow and slightly labored, but he was just sitting there, stock still, awaiting whatever may come next. He seemed almost tortured, in a way, but it was such a sweet torture.

Her onslaught progressed slowly. She inched her hand up his thigh and nudged his nose with her own. "So close that you can almost feel it. Taste it. I like that bit to last forever." He shuddered and closed his eyes, but he wasn't stopping her, so she allowed her trembling bottom lip to pass over his ever so slightly, and said, "Don't you just love to make it last?"

"No," he breathed.

Her eyes flitted downward for a split second, and she saw that his sweatpants were already tented. He'd clearly done enough waiting. She squeezed her legs together at the very enticing sight. In truth, she wouldn't have minded jumping forward to Christmas Day.

Her hand on his neck held him in place as she finally pressed her lips against his. Still, he seemed frozen, as if in disbelief, so she kissed him again. "Raymond?"

His eyes fluttered open. "Mm?"

"That was a move."

All at once, he seemed to break open and snap to attention, into the moment. He grabbed her hips and pulled her into his lap with a low growl. "So is this." He took her lips with a fervor that made her gasp into his eager mouth. She swept her tongue past his parted lips and eased her weight down against him, earning a delightful, low moan.

Everything she had imagined about this moment flew right out the window. He was so much more. His fingers and lips felt electric, sending shocks through her with every move he made.

Could he feel it too? Was she living up to his fantasies? Surely he'd had them, if he'd been waiting for this as she had.

Gradually, he willed himself to slow down, to try to savor her. His hands were gently caressing her sides, and she could feel his fingers twitch against the urge to pull her more tightly against him. He kissed her along her jaw, up to her ear, and asked, "Is this really happening? Do you really want this to be happening?"

She cupped his face with both hands, her expression deadly serious while trying not to show her frustration. "That first move I made? That's called _consent_. Can't you just enjoy this as much as I am?"

She took his lips again, but he pulled back to reply, "I believe you can feel _exactly_ how much I'm enjoying this, but I don't understand how or why you could want it, unless it's just to scratch an itch."

"What if it is?" It wasn't, but she was suddenly curious and mildly offended at once. More than that, she was wondering if that's what it was for him. He had needs too, after all, and as far as she knew, he hadn't been with anyone since they'd been on the run together.

His entire expression seemed to fall, his eyes dropping away from hers and then down to her waist. "Then okay, I suppose, but then I'll... still be waiting, is all, until the next time. I'll have to wonder if there will even _be_ a next time."

"And if it isn't that? If it's more?" She waited while his eyes slowly drifted back to settle on hers. "You can't deny that we've always had a strong, confusing intensity between us, from day one. These last few months have clarified things. We've been dancing around this for a long time, and I'm tired of dancing."

His eyes brightened, but his lips tugged into a thin line. "Then I'm back to not understanding, to an extent. Are you sure this isn't the wine talking? I've made so many mistakes with you, sweetheart. The prospect of a regretful morning after is something I need to think about now, before it's too late, especially because you won't be able to get any time away from me for at least a few days."

She leaned in to kiss him again, still cupping his face with both hands, and she tried to pour every bit of her certainty into it, so he couldn't help but respond in kind. She gave him a kiss that surely held the promise of what was to come. Not just Christmas Day, but New Years Eve and every other holiday as well. He had to feel it. "How about we just do this for a few days instead, and more, hmm?"

"I probably should, but I'm too weak to deny you that."

She hummed and kissed him again. "And I'm too strong to let you, anyway. My mind is made up." In one smooth motion, she pulled her camisole up, over her head, and let it drop to the floor behind her. She immediately leaned forward, seeking his warmth, but Red grabbed her shoulders and pressed her back a bit.

"Slow down. At least let me see you."

"Yeah? Like this?" She smiled coyly, put her hands on his knees and arched her back, letting her hair cascade behind her, giving him a prime view.

He swallowed thickly, momentarily losing his voice. "Yeah, yes. God, you're exquisite." In a flash, he lurched forward to wrap his lips around her left nipple, his fingers tangling through her hair and pulling her in. He took his time, swirling his tongue and kissing his way over to the other, and then up to her neck. All the while, she writhed in his lap and twisted her hips against him, matching the rhythm of his mouth.

For ages, she'd been dying to comb her fingers through his chest hair (or at least to see it free of blood), but when she reached for the hem of his shirt, he blanched slightly beneath her. "What?" she asked.

"Hm? It's nothing. Here, I'll help." He lifted his arms, facilitating the quick removal of his shirt.

But it wasn't just his chest that she was so eager to see. It was his shoulders too, so broad and firm and just begging to be gripped by her capable hands. She took a moment to enjoy a solely tactile exploration of his chest, leaving no square inch untouched.

Her first discovery was the freckles on his shoulders. She delighted in the surprise, enjoying how the flickering firelight danced over them. She leaned forward, pressing her chest against his to inspect them more closely, slipping her arms around his back in the process, where she made another discovery.

 _What the hell?_

Too much texture. Indentations, lines, and rivulets. A whole sheet of scars, like a massive topographic map - the kind of scars that tell silent tales of abject horror.

But Red, the ever-smiling troubadour, had never told her this one.

"Red?"

Confusion and innate understanding collided as the heat from the fireplace continued to warm her own bare back.

 _The man who had found her, only to fall to the floor. It was him._

After a long pause, he muttered, "I can put my shirt back on," speaking only to the moment, and offering no explanation.

Fine by her.

Maybe it was the wine that dulled her racing mind, but she needed no immediate answers.

She thought back to the moment with her delicious, burned marshmallows. "No! Please, leave it off. I know what these are, and it's okay. You're perfect, Red, just like this." She slipped from his lap and stood up, grabbing his hands to pull him up too.

"Are you su -" he began, only to be interrupted by her finger pressed against his lips.

"You don't want to finish that sentence."

"No, I don't. What I want to do is _this._ " He slipped out of his sweatpants and boxers at once, kicking both aside.

And oh god, goddamn, she didn't want to be so base as to ogle the goods, but there he was and there _they_ were and _not_ looking was _not_ an option. She gave in and let her eyes scale the length of him, first from head to toe, and then from base to tip. She wanted to wrap her lips around him and see how deeply she could make him moan.

Red took a step forward and hooked his thumbs into her yoga pants, his eyes searching hers for silent permission. She answered by covering his hands with her own and guiding them to push her pants and panties down, and then he kneeled at her feet to help her step out of them. It was his turn to ogle, and he did so on his knees, shameless in his apparent adoration for her. By the look on his face, his thoughts must have been similar to her own. He appeared at once predatory and reverent, and as he stood up, his hands never left her skin. He caressed from her calves, all the way up to her waist, and then pulled her in for a mind-meltingly deep kiss that took her breath away.

Without breaking the kiss, she guided him towards the bed and pushed him back until he was sitting down on it, and then she followed him down partway, dropping to her knees in front of him. Anticipating his protest, she grabbed both of his hands and pinned them to the bed on either side of this thighs. Slowly, she kissed just below his navel and followed the trail of hair down to his twitching member.

He squeezed her hands, probably harder than he intended, as she flattened her tongue against the underside, and licked him from base to tip. "Lizzie, you don't ha - ahhh," he crumpled into a moan when she took him into her mouth all at once, as deeply as she could. The difference between 'have to' and 'want to' had long since become a matter of semantics to her.

Desire does that.

She slipped down to just the tip and began to suck, pressing him to the roof of her mouth. Already, her jaw began to stiffen with the effort of stretching around his impressive girth, but she kept going, burying him into the back of her throat and swallowing. His hips bucked a little, involuntarily, and she thrilled at it - at the effort he was making to keep it together. She hummed around him, and the little vibrations from her throat ripped a deep, low moan from his, exactly the sound she'd been aiming for.

"Sweetheart, I need you to stop. God, your mouth!" He pulled his hands away from hers and cupped her cheek imploringly. "It's too much. I won't last."

Perhaps she should have expected that.

Reluctantly, she released him. "Very well."

She climbed into the bed and lay down on her side, but he seemed frozen in the sitting position, as if indecisive about what he wanted to do next, but he turned his torso to look upon her, contemplating. He leaned down and planted a soft kiss on her knee.

"I want you on top of me," she said.

He twisted further, onto his hands and knees, and kissed her inner thigh. "You sure? Because I was thinking..." He trailed off suggestively and kissed her a couple inches higher, on her other thigh.

She reached down and ran her fingers across his scalp. "Later, maybe. Right now, I just - I just want you on me, inside me."

How could he deny her that?

She rolled onto her back and pulled her knees apart expectantly, making room for him, and he happily obliged. With his weight on his elbow, he dipped two fingers into the cleft between her thighs and groaned, disbelieving how badly she wanted him, and how ready she was.

He kissed her softly, sweetly, rocking his length against her until he was coated in her moisture.

And _god_ , he was slipping so sweetly against her clit that her body could hardly handle it. She grabbed his ass and pulled him in more tightly, all tensed up from head to toe and seconds from coming, but Red sensed it and pulled back to growl into her ear, "Patience, Lizzie. I want to feel you come."

"Please, Red," she cried, more than a hint of desperation in her voice.

Again, he couldn't deny her, so he aligned himself and pushed forward, locking eyes with her as their bodies finally joined. She pressed the soles of her feet into the mattress and thrusted her hips upwards, seating him fully, her body screaming for friction. He stretched her to the limit and she felt, so, so exquisitely full. The slight twinge of accompanying pain was all but entirely blocked out by blinding pleasure.

He moved within her slowly. "Easy, sweetheart. You're so tight, I can't. _God_."

But she couldn't relax, couldn't ease up, and after only a few thrusts, she came _hard_ around him, sinking her teeth into his shoulder as she writhed beneath his still form. It took every ounce of his self-control not to tumble into the abyss with her.

As she slowly regained her senses, her first thought was that she was absolutely ruined. No other man had ever made her feel this overwhelmingly good, and no other man ever would.

He kissed her deeply, and lovingly. "Feeling you come, _oh my god, Lizzie._ I've never experienced anything so beautiful, so right."

She wrapped her legs around him and lifted her hips to meet his, cradling him deep inside her. "Then I want you to feel it again," she replied.

He eased his way out and then back in again, slowly at first, but then gradually accelerating until her toes began to curl. The expression on his face was one that she didn't fully recognize, but already she looked forward to seeing it again. His brow furrowed as if in concentration, but the sea green of his eyes looked positively serene. His lips remained soft, so pillow soft as he kissed her over and over.

When she felt the tension inside of her rebuilding, he felt it too. With her legs around his waist, he lifted her up so that she was seated against him, their chests pressed together. She clutched at his back helplessly and he grabbed her hips, thrusting upwards with intensity until she cried out. Her clenching walls ripped his orgasm from him, and he met her eyes as they came apart together, his length throbbing wildly inside her.

They stayed positioned like that for a few minutes after, foreheads bowed against one another, as if in prayer.

When he was able to will his body to move, it was only to throw another log on the fire, and for the first time, she got a good look at his back. Thoughts of the excruciating pain that he must have suffered brought tears to her eyes. He climbed back into bed with a small smile on his face, oblivious to her thoughts, and gathered her into his arms.

She vowed to do everything in her power to erase that memory, and to replace it with good ones.

-...-...-...-

After four days, the airstrip was plowed clear enough for them to take off again. While Red was in the bathroom, Liz dashed into the kitchen to stealthily grab two of the bottles of wine.

They'd make a great anniversary gift.


End file.
